


the golden embrace

by faorism



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Sex Shop, Body Dysphoria, Character Study, Codenames, M/M, Plug and Play, Sexual Experimentation, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, Wire Play
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-04
Updated: 2018-09-16
Packaged: 2019-07-06 16:46:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15890046
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/faorism/pseuds/faorism
Summary: The moment Genji walks into his sex shop is one that Zenyatta will eventually encrypt into the deepest wells of his memory core.





	1. an observation

**Author's Note:**

> here's a little worldbuilding exercise about cybernetic intimacy that ive had as a wip for months now. whenever i go to it, i end up just editing and editing, without adding more. hopefully by starting to put it out there, i can finally move on to developing out this weird but fun AU. as a heads up, genji will be going by a codename for part of this fic but i promise i will try to move on to his real name asap.

Zenyatta deeply values professionalism, but ultimately, he _is_ a retail worker. (A retail worker at a shop he owns, but a retail worker nonetheless.)

He tries to find harmony in the trickle of customers trailing in and out, in and out of his little omnisex shop. When he succeeds, he can almost meditate to the steady rhythm of consumerism, curiosity, and anticipation writ into his customers' frames. He wishes every day were so, but usually, the Iris wills a less magnanimous fate for the shopkeep.

Tedium is a natural part of business, but even understanding that does little to lessen the monotony of cashier duty.

So. While Zenyatta may be too professional to stare _outright_ at his customers, even one so trained in the arts of discipline as him cannot help but pass the time by stealing a glance.

Sometimes he catches someone at the lubricant station, deep in concentration as they compare sensory output, price, spec compatibility, suggested orifice use, and bulk options. Sometimes he observes the moment when someone considers a new kink—or internally debates an old one—as they review the logistics of a speciality dildo. Sometimes he sees the near visible spark of excitement between partners as they settle on a purchase.

This time, in a moment that Zenyatta will eventually encrypt into the deepest wells of his memory core, he notices the omnic the second they walk into The Golden Embrace.

Zenyatta does not know what draws his attention to the door just as it opens. As such, his optics are ready to capture the optimal sightline of a sleek frame backlit by the Numbani midday sun. The opulence of chrome shining brilliantly in the light entrances Zenyatta.

It is a good glance to steal.

It stays, however, the briefest of glances because he recognizes the careful hunch of the omnic's silhouette, the tension in every joint… Every slope of the omnic's body readies itself should they need to bolt out the door. Zenyatta has seen that body language from enough first timers who are a fiber's edge away from being spooked; this customer wants discretion.

While he believes such an entrance was worthy of praise (or at least a welcome), Zenyatta does not want to make any guest to his shop feel uncomfortable. He tears his optics away from the newcomer and lets the omnic be without even offering a greeting as they fully enter the stop.  
  
The omnic does not miss the courtesy; they rush in without a look in Zenyatta's direction.

Still curious, Zenyatta watches from the very edge of his optical range. The omnic gives the other beings in the shop a wide berth as they quickly walk around the store. They do not stop too long in any one place, but Zenyatta can tell they comb through the stock with at least some measure of care.

Eventually the omnic has their back turned to Zenyatta as they examine the valve accessories wall. It is now that Zenyatta steals his second glance.

This time, Zenyatta notices their clothes. They're dressed, as is the omnic custom in Numbani... but their wardrobe is not quite right. The omnic is discrete but not discrete enough for someone who has trained as extensively in combat as Zenyatta has. Their waist wrap is fine, as are their sash and the simple litham flowing creamy and soft around their head. But in the rest of the gear, Zenyatta instantly sees what many would not: nondescript colors; seams in limb panels where there should not be seams; joints and pelvis free of anything that might get caught; a mismatched white face guard obviously meant to conceal proper identification; and (most damning of all) straps across their back with empty clips where long items (weapons?) probably should be.

Zenyatta recognizes this particular fashion for all of what it is: fighter-class optimization.

Decommissioned fighters are nothing new to Numbani, but to wear the optimization for one is a rare sight in the peaceful city.

Zenyatta wants to know more about this strange customer. Zenyatta also wants to _know_ this customer: wants to uncover what lies secret within them and to feel the touch of their shining armor against his sensors and… and… It occurs to Zenyatta that the brightness of his interest is sudden and perhaps unwarranted. But Zenyatta does not extinguish his attraction. There's no harm in admiring a stunningly unique model. And even if by some twisted series of events the omnic and Zenyatta start talking and hit it off… Well. While it happened only a few times before, this would not the first time he has seduced or been seduced in his shop.

Unfortunately for Zenyatta, things go wrong a moment later when the omnic hits the mod display.

It is a display Zenyatta takes special pride in, and it is one of The Golden Embrace's main draws. While the tech is certainly not new to omnic-friendly sex shops, no being has curated as sophisticated a collection as Zenyatta's. There's entire categories devoted to restricting movement inputs, others to sensory magnification, another that produces temporary synesthesia for its user, a line built specifically for human prosthetics, and so on and so forth. Zenyatta lists all available mods on a padd installed against a starkly minimalist wall. Knowing his clientele, the padd even offers detailed coding notes for each mod for transparency (and intrigue).

It's a good display.  
  
The wealth of options, however, must overwhelm the fighter-class omnic. They emit a low and sudden hiss from their vocalizer, turn in their spot, and walk straight out the door.

At 00:07:42:01, the omnic's visit is not remarkable for its brevity. It is far from the shortest time it has taken a nervous newcomer to run from The Golden Embrace. What makes it remarkable is that Zenyatta precisely measures the time at all.

Somewhere deep in his core, he wishes it were longer.


	2. an introduction

Zenyatta doesn't think he'll see the intriguing stranger again.

But they return a few days later, when Zenyatta is explaining to an omnic-human couple the pros and cons of installing a permanent interface array that cannot switch accessories. He doesn't notice the stranger entering the shop, but as the couple goes off to explore, Zenyatta spots the stranger making their way around.

Zenyatta, already having stolen his glances, decides to commit to his insatiable curiosity. He watches the omnic as discreetly as he can as the omnic moves slowly through the store. Watches as they linger.

They wear the same litham and face guard as they had the first time but their wraps and straps are a slightly different design—though everything remains fighter-class optimized. They are also still equip with a curt grace that cuts elegantly, lethally into every one of their movements, despite how tentatively they move throughout The Golden Embrace.

This time, they take a long time in the solo play section of the store, which they hadn't seen last time before their quick exit. It is interesting: they seem to review both the omnic selection and the (smaller but no less rigorously selected) human prosthetic section in equal measure. Zenyatta considers approaching the stranger to see if they have any questions but hesitates, wondering if the interaction would be unwanted.

The decision is made for him, as the couple from earlier interrupts his thoughts. As Zenyatta rings them up, the stranger leaves The Golden Embrace once again.

 

.

 

For the omnic's third visit, Zenyatta, busy with other customers, only notices them as they walk out the door.

 

.

 

The next, Zenyatta catches them seriously considering a bottle of lube. Zenyatta can see the dance in the way they pick up and put down the bottle, again and again, the question of whether this will be the buy to break their window shopping evident in every crook on their body. When Zenyatta has time to look back, the bottle is as it was but the stranger is nowhere to be found.

 

.

 

The fifth time does and does not surprise Zenyatta: the omnic's return is expected, but the "ẹ n lẹ" they say in clumsy Yoruba in Zenyatta's direction is not.

Given the sleekness of their combat optimization, Zenyatta had imagined their voice to be as severe as a knife's edge. Their short burst of speech, however, offers a sweetness nearly too honeypitched for Zenyatta to bear. Before he forgets his manners, Zenyatta offers a hasty but warm hello back.

To match the omnic's sudden boldness, Zenyatta goes further: he presses along a virtual greetings. As with any microfile, it is small as to prevent malware transmissions, and Zenyatta's prepared virtugreet is especially simple: 

> > UNIT_TEK-07  
>  > DESIGNATION_Zenyatta {open input = "additions: **Tekhartha.Zenyatta **he.him.his **omnic **being **adult"} {open input = "restrictions: **robot **bot **android **droid **person **man"}  
>  > OCCUPATION_Shopkeeper {locked input [designation(**adult) required to access] = "Owner^The.Golden.Embrace **(NUMBANI)"}  
>  > LANGUAGE_Nepali {open input="primary: **Nepali **English **Yoruba **NepaliSL **Hausa **BritishSL **OmnicBase3.0"} {open input = "secondary: **Mandarian **Maithili **Lhasa **Igbo **NigerianSL **Urhobo **AmericanSL **Fulfulde **French **Ibibio **(NONEXHAUSTIVE)"}

Zenyatta decidedly ignores the excited uptick in his processing power when he feels the virtugreet being accepted. It shouldn't feel like an accomplishment: accepting a proffered greeting is only polite. Still, the omnic has a very narrow signal receptor: they definitely do not passively exchange virtugreets as most omnics do in Numbami. Due to the restriction on the equipment, Zenyatta guesses that the stranger rarely gives or receives cursory greetings. That the omnic accepts Zenyatta's greeting feels special.

That should be the end of the exchange, but the omnic does not move on. They shift their weight from one leg to the other, clearly processing something. Zenyatta waits for whatever the stranger is gearing up for, and his patience is rewarded. He feels a microfile pressed to his own receptor.

It, of course, is a vitrugreet. Without pause, Zenyatta excitedly opens it to encounter a message only offered in Japanese, English, and a hastily translated Yoruba: 

> > SPARROW__HE__**adult>LANG:**JAPANESE**ENGLISH__THANKYOU

Zenyatta does not flinch. He prides himself in this. After all, as the proprietor of a shop dealing in the sensitive issue of sex, Zenyatta has been witness to and heard about and felt for himself questionable, odd, confusing, and sometimes outright disagreeable experiences. His job requires not only discretion (beside his occasional stolen glances) but also sensitivity. Compassion. Openmindedness.

So he does not react to the greeting—despite its vagueness—despite its charming thank you—despite its absolutely bizarre formatting...

Despite it all, Zenyatta stays passive. Welcoming.

"Thank you, Sparrow," he says aloud, in English. "Call on me should you have any questions."

The omnic—Sparrow—nods. He walks around the shop quickly and leaves without really taking anything in, perhaps the introduction the most he was able to do today.

 

.

 

Sparrow surprises Zenyatta for the second time in a row during his next visit.

It's only fifteen minutes past opening, so no one is in The Golden Embrace besides Zenyatta when Sparrow walks in again. Sparrow offers the shopkeep a quick "yo" as he enters and walks straight to the lubricant section. Today, Sparrow doesn't linger. He picks up two 50ml tester-sized bottles, walks straight back to Zenyatta, and puts the bottles carefully down on the counter.

Zenyatta feels his customary _have you found everything you were looking for_ would come across as teasing, considering. He should refrain, the temptation too intense to submit to—too intense to be professional.

He asks anyway, humor edging into his voice so Sparrow knows he isn't being judged.

Thankfully, Sparrow isn't offended, but he only offers a perfunctory: "Just this."

One of the bottles is Silken Joints, a highly viscous solution that is popular for play with external arrays. The second is Sensitively Yours (HumOm Edition)—while not The Golden Embrace's biggest seller, Zenyatta keeps it stocked for omnic-human arrangements who require hypoallergenic simplicity. Zenyatta finds it leans more toward caution for sensitive human partners than building omnic pleasure, but it's not a bad choice for an omnic to have on hand, especially if one was curious about sex with humans. An interesting combo, but the small sizes might indicate a desire to test before committing to a larger bottle.

"Would you like me to review the suggested use and safety protocols?"

"Is it what's on your website?" Zenyatta nods. "Then no. I've read it already."

"How studious of you," Zenyatta teases as he rings Sparrow up.

He is about to name the price when he is stopped by Sparrow emitting a low, punched sound before he starts to laugh, hands going akimbo at his hips. The white face guard muffles the height of the sound, but it's a hearty, silly thing that prompts the posterior fan in Zenyatta's neck to whir in a blush. The military stiffness of Sparrow's frame slips slightly, warmly.

"You," Sparrow says, shaking his head as he tries to rein back his laughter, "may be the first to accuse me of being so."

"Oh?"

"I have unanimously been cast as quite the delinquent by every teacher I've ever had."

"You must be exaggerating."

"Oh?" Sparrow leans in and gestures to Zenyatta to come closer. Zenyatta does. Softly, as if sharing a closely guarded secret, Sparrow whispers, "I just got kicked out of a yoga retreat run by the most patient, considerate monks you can imagine because I was utterly unteachable."

It is a gift to learn something personal about Sparrow.

But his sharp edge of self-deprecation does not settle well with Zenyatta, and he cannot let that go easily. Zenyatta draws from his center, from the Iris within, to respond: "A pupil withholds their attention only when a master withholds from their class the creativity necessary to adapt and include every person under their tutelage."

"You think so?" Sparrow says, unbelieving. 

"I do. A school cannot only be ranked by its most achieving nor by the majority of its students, but by those for whom their methods could not—or would not—reach. I do not know who taught you previously, and perhaps you truly are—as you called yourself—a delinquent. A troublemaker. But before you is someone who pushed boundaries with his intellectual peers throughout every step of his education. Speaking from my experience: in the face of conflict, harmony will not be reached through stubborn application of one's steadfast habits. It also is not ignoring the problem until it goes away. Harmony is to find discord and hold it just as tightly to you as you would a moment of peace, until you broker in your core a more enlightened state of being."

Zenyatta pauses, realizing how long he had been speaking.

The moment of silence between them draws on too long, heavy with the depth of Zenyatta's speech. Zenyatta cannot read the microexpressions of Sparrow's body, frozen as it is in front of him. It concerns Zenyatta. While he had good intentions, perhaps Zenyatta's treatise came across as meddling or condescending?

"I overstepped," Zenyatta says, dismayed. "Forgive—"

"No, no. I appreciate your perspective. It's… refreshing. And generous." From this close, Zenyatta can see that Sparrow's mask includes not only the white face guard, but also the goggles Zenyatta had incorrectly assumed were his sensors before. But even obscured, Zenyatta can almost sense them brightening as Sparrow looks Zenyatta up and down. "Apparently, I am in need of a new master."

That… had to be a come on. Even muffled as his voice is through the guard, there was no mistaking the rumbling drawl barreling up from Sparrow's vocalizer.

Now it is Zenyatta who cannot come up with a response beyond a soft, "Ah…"

He thought Sparrow withdrawn and awkward, but the flirtation in Sparrow's voice is smooth, practiced, and exciting. Beings act differently in sex shops—especially omnisex shops, where many omnics feel overwhelmed by a space so thoughtfully designed around their pleasure and existence. But there is too big a shift between what Zenyatta has seen in Sparrow's first few visits versus the personality blossoming in this conversation.

The shift feels like yet another mystery about the omnic Zenyatta wants to address and understand one day.

At the moment, however, the front door to The Golden Embrace opens and two omnics enter, saving Zenyatta from having to come up with a true response.

Privacy broken, Zenyatta and Sparrow draw back quickly, feeling caught. In the breadth of seconds, Sparrow's frame tightens again, sunk with whatever hang ups have had him slinking quickly through The Golden Embrace. Zenyatta may not have known what to say, but it is still a shame to see that tension return.

"I—I apologize," Sparrow stumbles, pressure vents somewhere underneath his sash audibly opening as he flusters. "Now I have overstepped. Or, ah, you hadn't actually, like I said, so it's just me who—"

"Sparrow—"

"Thank you for your kind words. Please excuse me."

With that, Sparrow walks out, leaving the two bottles of lube behind. Zenyatta sighs, cancels the purchase on the POS machine, and goes to see if his two new customers have any questions.

 


	3. an offer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It ends up being a very long day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there is something obscene about googling (in rapid succession) coding vocabulary, parts of a camera, parts of a typewriter, and the tf kink meme.

It ends up being a very long day.

Besides the middling first thirty minutes after opening, Saturdays usually are busy. It seems that on Fridays, most omnics try and decompress after the (non-retail) work week, only to realize they ran out of something from their personal stocks. A tragedy, it is, to be without in your moment of need—at least, that is the line Zenyatta has been told time and time again from the most thankful of the Saturday crowd replenishing their supplies.

They come in mostly for lubricant, but also safety equipment like grounders, condoms, scrubbers, and plugplay parameters. Well, they come in for lubricant, safety equipment, and dongles for Apple products, which always seem to be bought by the most desperate of his Saturday customers. (Zenyatta always has them on hand even though still isn't quite sure what they do with them, since the dongles fit no sex toys Zenyatta sells. It's a mystery and Zenyatta loves solving mysteries but just this once, he finds the not knowing too funny to find a resolution for.)

Saturdays are busy, but what makes the day long is the unending echo of Sparrow's flirting through his processors. In the moments between ringing up customers, Zenyatta tries to manually deprioritize the memory, but his attempts fail: it just won't save and settle properly. His own CPU, turned traitor against him.

So as the Saturday crowd floods into his shop, Zenyatta thinks of the husky downturn of Sparrow's voice.

Thinks of the precise movement of Sparrow's finger as he beckoned Zenyatta closer, and the easy proximity as they both leaned over the counter.

Thinks of the surprise of Sparrow's humor—the glimpses of confidence, once he laughed—the intoxicating strangeness of every moment Sparrow has been in his Golden Embrace—

A new master, Sparrow had said—and…

He couldn't have known how deeply that epithet might rock Zenyatta, twisting something restlessly (un)familiar within the tender depths of his Iris.

Sparrow couldn't have known, but now that Zenyatta has moved past the shock of Sparrow having a personality, the effect of that one thoughtless "master" comment was undeniable. Untenable.

Now Zenyatta hovers behind his counter for hours, limbs twitchy with needy anticipation. It's so rare a feeling to have at work that it only further frustrates Zenyatta. Working in an omnisex shop isn't actually that sexy, usually: it requires research, acute observational skills, unending patience, and a therapeutic level of empathy in the face of others' shame, ignorance, and/or insecurity. Professionalism. It requires _professionalism_. Focus.

Zenyatta is _good_ at his job. Usually. Even the times he has exchanged plans to hook up with a customer, Zenyatta just compartmentalized his excitement until the end of shift.

Today, though, he's driven to distraction and Zenyatta… Zenyatta is not prone to having regrets: he understands his own motivations too deeply to ever truly regret an action he has or has not taken. But he wishes he could have said… something to Sparrow, anything that might have gotten him to stay a little longer. Because now, he has nothing to look forward to: he doesn't have the fun one-night-stand like he might have arranged if he had just reciprocated Sparrow's flirting; he doesn't know if Sparrow will come back; and (most importantly) he has no promise that he'll have another the chance to understand Sparrow just a little more.

 

.

 

Three hours after Sparrow rushed out his door, Zenyatta has no choice: he lets his mala rise from their rest mode and spin to release some tension. Customers new to The Golden Embrace don't react, but the most brazen of Zenyatta's regulars practically coo at the revelation that, yes, his necklace is fully functional.

Only one thinks to ask technical questions about how he powers the mala. Fortunately, she doesn't think to double check her receptors when Zenyatta gives her the completely nonsensical answer: "Bluetooth."

 

.

 

The mala still twirl around him two minutes before closing. He has his back to the door as he tries to get a head start on cleaning and restocking, so he hears rather than sees the door open.

"I am sorry," Zenyatta says, turning around. "We're c—Oh."

"Yo."

Zenyatta's visual range includes nine optics and two sensory receptors, each contributing their own specific calibration and set of failsafes. He can with some degree of absolute confidence say that when he sees something, he really sees it. He doesn't doubt that Sparrow stands at his doorway, but Zenyatta checks to be absolutely sure that his sexual frustration hasn't glitched his systems with a hallucination.

"I admit, I was not expecting you to return so soon."

"In the face of conflict," Sparrow parrots, affecting his voice so its crests and falls sound more like Zenyatta's, "harmony will not be reached by ignoring a problem, but by bringing it closer to you. I thought to take your advice."

"Indeed?"

"Yes. I…" Sparrow starts but must think better of it, as if realizing the irony of his statement given the distance between them. He walks forward until he is a respectful meter away and then his head bows forward.

Zenyatta anticipates his next line and wants nothing of it. "If you have come to apologize, there is truly no need," Zenyatta interrupts before Sparrow can get a vocalization out.

"I shouldn't have while you were working."

Since Sparrow isn't getting it, Zenyatta decides to go all in. He moves closer to Sparrow and, clearly signaling his intention, raises his hand to touch Sparrow delicately on his right elbow. Sparrow allows this intimacy.

"I do receive a lot of unwanted advances, but you must understand: yours was not that. I was not expecting you to be so forward, but the forwardness was very much appreciated."

Zenyatta lets Sparrow process what Zenyatta has said, the quiet interrupted only the subtle sway of the mala and the hum of both omnics' standard operating. Sparrow hasn't pulled his arm away, and Zenyatta delights in the smooth slide of their gear against one another.

When he finally speaks, Sparrow's flirty voice has returned.

"I feel you watching me, whenever I'm here."

Zenyatta's mala speed up for a too-quick rotation in embarrassment at having been caught. "I admit to being very curious about you, Sparrow."

"Really? Even with me slinking in here like a creeper all those times."

Ah. "I was not sure if you were aware of how your behavior might be read by others."

"I know." Self-deprecation bleeds into Sparrow's vocal range, and his nerves must push Sparrow to ramble. "There are… reasons, but I know it's weird and I at times make people nervous. I'm trying to be better about it. But it also honestly meant a lot to be here, and not be followed around or politely asked to leave, and I got the feeling you were into me despite never having said anything to you. I thought I was projecting but…"

"You were not projecting anything, my friend." Thumb pressing into the curve of Sparrow's elbow, Zenyatta confesses: "I enjoy watching you."

Sparrow sighs and brings his left hand up to his litham, playing with the cloth as a human might do with their hair. "God. You're so fucking hot."

Cooling fans jump on throughout Zenyatta's body at Sparrow's proclamation. He laughs and Sparrow joins him. Even though it does not drain the tension of the day, it feels good to share this flirty bubbly buzz. It emboldens Zenyatta.

He drops his hand from Sparrow's elbow to his hand, coaxing it open so Zenyatta can thread their fingers together. "Sparrow."

"Yes?"

"If I asked you to come with me back to my studio, would you?"

Sparrow squeezes Zenyatta's hand as he groans. "You seek to kill me, don't you, Zenyatta?" He reaches out and grabs Zenyatta's other hand, holding on just as tightly. "I want to, desperately I do."

"But you won't." Zenyatta tries to keep the disappointment out of his vocalizer. He fails.

"There is something we need to discuss before we can be intimate, and… I'm not ready for that conversation. Not yet."

Zenyatta computes several scenarios, all of which he feels he can handle, up to and including Sparrow being an active fighter-class rogue spy hiding from his government in Numbani omnisex shops, to him being a virgin. He wants to offer Sparrow comfort and the promise that Zenyatta would be accommodating to whatever Sparrow's concerned about.

But, Sparrow is obviously in need of space. And just as Zenyatta did when Sparrow was just a stranger in his shop, Zenyatta gives Sparrow the space he needs.

"I understand. Just… please feel free to continue frequenting my shop in the meantime. If there is any way I can help you in your search for the peace you require, I will be happy to assist. And of course, I will not rescind my offer. In your time, you may take it." Zenyatta pauses. "Or, to be more specific, you may take me," he teases, hoping to lighten the mood.

Sparrow is too gracious to appreciate the obvious innuendo. "Thank you, Zenyatta. I cannot explain what your patience means to me."

"I ask for one thing, if you would be willing to indulge me."

"Anything."

"I have been keyed up with want for you all day and would appreciate a hug, if I can impose on you for this."

The circuit of his mala breaks as Sparrow unthreads their linked hands and leans forward, wrapping his beautiful (dangerous?) arms around Zenyatta's frame. Zenyatta shifts his legs slightly so they curl up at either side of Sparrow's hips, knees pressing into Sparrow's soft waist wrap. Sparrow comes ever closer and Zenyatta shivers as their temperature moderators synchronize at their united touch.

 

.

 

"Oh," Sparrow says, eventually, sweetly and softly right into Zenyatta's audical. "Before I forget."

"Hm?"

"You probably noticed: I didn't actually buy my lube earlier. Will you help a guy out?"

Zenyatta considers the question. The task will only take a moment but it's now a few minutes after the hour. "The register is closed, unfortunately, even for you. But I'll be here tomorrow, same time as always. Perhaps you can come again?"

The ploy is obvious but Sparrow doesn't seem to mind. He only squeezes Zenyatta tighter in his arms. "I'll see you then."  


.

 

That night, Zenyatta's trembling body sinks into his divan's cushions as he installs his array with the most flexible valve in his collection.

It's uncomplicated work, his fingers long practiced at sectioning off the sensory input from his pelvic axis, releasing the magnetic locks, twisting the appropriate latches, clamping tubes, and finally, delicately pulling out his current, non-interfacing unit. There's a stunning, intense moment of emptiness—as there always is when he is between installing units—and he revels in it. There aren't enough sensory nodes in his axis to make it worth fucking himself without an array. Still, he can't help but appreciate the mechanical wonder of his legs widely spread with a gaping hole ready for an install.

Zenyatta deftly installs the second unit, and he isn't surprised that his arousal floods his valve with slick the second it connects with the rest of his system. His vocalizer catches on his moan, sputtering vulgar and thin as he writhes at the wet between his legs. He's so turned on, he's so ready, he's so desperate…

He's grabbed the biggest dildo he has and now he sets it into cushions so it stands proud and tall, lubes it, and then sits his valve over its thick girth.

Almost immediately, he feels the calipers of his valve strain and give to the pressure of the too-big so-big so-good stretch. The dildo's suggested use is for omnics at least three times Zenyatta's size, but Zenyatta sinks down and down and down and down. There's still so much left of the giant dildo when its head hits the top of his array. It's not enough. Zenyatta forces himself down another centimeter—two centimeters—three—until he hears a creak, hitting the absolute limit of his frame—the dildo has nowhere else to go.

He gives himself just a moment to tremble over the fit of it so perfect that Zenyatta's slick can't leak past the tight ring of the valve's entrance. Then, basking in the peak of the stretch, he finds that precious, troublesome echo that haunted him all day. He sets the memory as a priority.

 _Master_.

That night, Zenyatta fucks himself raw and loose and wanting and wild, with the tender hope Sparrow will soon take up his offer blossoming in his thoracic cavity like an orgasm.

 

**Author's Note:**

> you can catch me at my [personal tumblr](http://faorism.tumblr.com) or my [fanwork one](http://faorismwork.tumblr.com). i post shop talk, headcanons, goofs, responses to readers, and any updates concerning this fic to my [#the golden embrace fic](https://faorism.tumblr.com/tagged/the-golden-embrace-fic) tag.


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